


A Respectable Hobbit

by KageKashu



Series: Of a Dragon, and a Hobbit... and a Mountain of Dwarves [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Gen, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/KageKashu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there's something horribly familiar about that dragon's voice. A reincarnation fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Respectable Hobbit

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own: The Hobbit; Sherlock
> 
> Warnings: Spoilers for the end of the book - or not; also, not exactly canon-compliant, because it's kind of fusion-y.
> 
> Not to be taken seriously, no no no... Could be considered John/Sherlock (Bilbo/Smaug), but only if I write more.

The dragon was growing more irritable, but Bilbo couldn't shake the feeling that he knew that voice from somewhere. "I'm growing impatient, little thief." Perhaps... perhaps the voice was the same as that of the man in his recurring dream, what was his name, now? A bit of time with his pipe might allow him a chance to remember, but the hobbit was half certain that he had lost his pipe weed, or what had been passing for it at the time, in the river. "Clever little thief, that I cannot see you. The scent of dwarf is on you, but it is not your natural scent." 

Great nostrils opened and closed as the dragon scented the air, and Bilbo remained still, trying to ignore the phantom ache in his arm that he couldn't remember the cause of. But then again, he did. In his dreams, there was a fantastical battle of Men (there were explosions, and these great metal cages, and the whole thing made not a lick of sense; but as fantastical as it was, it was all so very terrible, and Bilbo had always known that war was a terrible thing), and the air had reeked of blood and black powder... Of course, that would be saying that his dream was the source of the pain. Now certain that he knew Smaug's voice (from his dream), he couldn't help but ask, "What do you think of the name 'Mycroft'?" Personally, Bilbo thought it to be a rather Tookish sounding name, just a bit foreign, and almost predatory. 

Smaug, on the other hand, looked nearly offended by it. Don't ask Bilbo how he knew what offended looked like on a dragon, but he was quite certain that that was what he was seeing. "Do you expect brevity, thief?" the dragon growled. 

"Yes," he decided. Brevity would suit their situation well, he thought. 

There was a sharp gasp from the dragon, a sound similar to that of mortar-fire - before the explosion, and it wasn't even a phrase that Bilbo could use, was it? Even though he had been dreaming those dreams since his youth, since he was a lad of merely twenty years, if not a bit earlier, he still found some of the things he remembered from them a bit... odd, to say the least. After all, if Smaug's gasp sounded like mortar-fire (a strange sound, that), then what exactly was a mortar? He remembered trying to explain to a cousin once, and it was eventually dismissed as his mother's influence. Still Smaug said nothing, merely emitted a strange, choking whine that sounded something like incoherent anger in an impossibly large, but oh so very young child. 

"Brevity isn't working for you, is it?" Bilbo asked, with some sensitivity. "You know, you remind me of a man I met in a dream." 

"To think that all I feel about that creature could be summed up in few words," the dragon grumbled. "Show yourself, thief. How do you know that name?" 

Bilbo thought longingly of his pipe and sighed. "Do you wish to hear a story?" 

"About your dream?" asked the dragon in a tone Bilbo would have called snide, if it weren't being used by a dragon. 

Instead of commenting on the tone, he instead said simply, "Yes." 

"Very well." 

* * *

_I was a respectable hobbit, I suppose. I can't say that even I expected much of myself when I followed the company of dwarves away from Bag End. Dreams aside, I liked my life exactly as it was. Simple, with plenty of good food, and respectable company whenever I wished it. Occasional parties, and sometimes it would be nice if I didn't have to hide the good silverware from my distant cousins, the Sackville-Bagginses._

_A hobbit isn't supposed to know as much as I do about black powder. Certainly it makes for good fireworks, and that is a lovely party trick, but there's a lot more to black powder than that. But that isn't the way hobbits think, so it has always been best for me not to mention that I can make my own black powder, or that I can make weapons with it._

_Best not to think of suck things, I'm afraid. Best not to remember how easy it is, if you know what you're doing, to kill a man, a dwarf, or a hobbit - but really, there's hardly a reason to kill a hobbit; there's a reason why we've never had war - with your bare hands. I have strong hands. I always have. They're sturdy and dependable, and I could have been a surgeon, if it weren't for the weak one, the one that shakes. Shaking hands are no good to a doctor. Instead, I built my life on bookkeeping, which I am very good at._

_The dreams have taught me more than death, though. Sometimes it's hard to remember that, when I have nightmares of another life that I don't really understand. They taught me how to observe. So I observed as I told the story of John Watson to the dragon Smaug. And when he grinned his dragon's grin at me and said, "Brilliant!" just like Sherlock Holmes..._

_It was like coming home._

* * *

"The way I see it," touted the hobbit, "we have several options; one that leads to two possible outcomes, and two others that I find more... palatable. I should hope that you pick one of these, or perhaps come up with something better, something befitting of Sherlock Holmes." The ring was off, tucked safely into Bilbo Baggins' waistcoat, and the hobbit was sitting, crosslegged, far too near the dragon's nose. 

"Go on," the dragon murmured, sounding slightly put out. "I'll shoot down your options John, then I'll come up with this better solution you speak of." 

"Option one: Everything goes as planned. The company comes to kill you, there is a fight, one or the other side loses and is dead, and if I survive either side being dead, I will not be happy." He beat his pipe into his palm, still wishing for that pipeweed, and doubting that Smaug had any, even should he ask. 

"Doesn't sound pleasant," agreed the dragon. "Next?" 

"The dwarves come and pretend to kill you, or you pretend to die, give up your hoard, and come join me... somehow... at Bag End. There will likely be a battle if we go this route," he added, before Smaug could give his opinion. "And many will die... I don't want that to happen, Sher...Smaug." 

"The gold-lust isn't so easily sated," the dragon said. "Option two is nonviable. I could not leave the gold." 

Bilbo thought for a moment to ask why, then, shaking his head, decided to give his last option first. "Lastly, there's... erhm, a time-share, if you would. The gold would be diminished by the dwarves' access, but you would have company, and it's likely that you would be brought food if you asked." 

"Time-share," the dragon rumbled, amused. "As in, the gold belongs to them, but I get to sit in it? And what do I do for this right?" 

"Pretend to be tame," Bilbo suggested, hoping that he wasn't about to be roasted. Sherlock would have loved it, thought it positively diabolical, but Smaug... was a different species, a different lifetime of events shaping his mind. He might not be amused at all. 

More of Sherlock existed in the dragon than Bilbo had hoped; Smaug laughed. He laughed long and hard, until the vibrations of it seemed to crush the hobbit. His head was ringing long before the great wave of sound died off. "Go and speak of this to your dwarves," he said. "And John? It seems as though you grew smarter when you got smaller." 

"I never had enough of your measure," Bilbo countered, "to say anything similar to you." 

* * *

_It is possible that the dream was more than a dream. It was confirmed through Smaug that it was another life. That life was full of all sorts of adventure. It was a wonderful, exciting life, and maybe that's why I went on this adventure._

_I was a respectable hobbit..._

_I don't think I want to be one again._


	2. A Respectable Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a dragon finds a hobbit interesting and a dwarven king finds out more than he wants to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is not a serious fic. It's a really silly what if, written like I'm trying to be serious. :) Bunny for second chapter struck quick and fast... I'm still bleeding.

_At that time, O King Under the Mountain, I was but a youngling. With the gold lust on me, there was nothing I could do but seek it. As a dwarf, you must understand this much. Even so young, my kind are a terror to yours. Without gold, so we remain. Beasts, with no mind, wanting only gold beneath our bellies, and blood between our teeth. Am I painting a clear picture in your mind, O King?_

_John tells me that I killed many of your people. Though I remember that time, it is but a haze of need and greed, pain and blood... shall I go on? The gold in your mountain satisfied the driving urge. If it hadn't, I would have sought more dwarves; though Man is greedy and hoards gold, none keep so much of it as your kind, O King._

_You say that there is more here than there was? Perhaps. The Men of the Dale, and the Men of the Lake have generously donated it to me, happy to have no gold, so long as I stayed away. Have they led you to believe otherwise? A foolish king you are, O King, to have believed them. Men especially do not handle fear well._

_The Men of the Dale are dead, yes. I speak of the few that remained. I haven't scented their presence on the wind in quite some time. The only reason you get this opportunity, O King, is because of John. Otherwise I would eat you and be done with it. John would be wroth with me, which is why I haven't yet. In fact, John will remain here. He may wish to go back to this... Bag End of his, wherever that is, but he won't be. Because I will eat you if he leaves._

* * *

Thorin Oakenshield stared up at the dragon, whose golden green eyes were half-mast. It stared back down at him, and was seated almost primly. As if it weren't enough that the dragon kept calling his burglar "John" - a Man's name - it also presumed to... he wasn't sure what, exactly, the presumption was, but it was a presumption, and the dragon was doing it. The burglar in question was giving his pipe, which he twirled between his fingers in an aggravated fashion, a petulant look. Probably mourning the loss of the rest of their pipeweed. 

"Thank you, Sherl...Smaug, for trying to enforce my stay," Bilbo Baggins said, sticking the pipe in his mouth at a jaunty angle even in the absence of anything to smoke. "I find it _irritating_ that you feel the need to, considering I had planned on sticking around." His cheeks puffed out for a moment, then he frowned, as though only just realizing his pipe's emptiness. "Perfect," he grumbled, putting the pipe back in its case. 

"You're saying that you were just a mindless beast at the time?" Thorin asked, frowning. The other dwarves were waiting outside, though they, his nephews in particular, hadn't been happy to be left behind. 

"Were you not listening?" the dragon rumbled. "The gold lust leaves nothing but a clever beast - one that will do anything for gold. I have little care for how the world sees me. Pretend I am a pet or fight me, it matters not, except that it is not what _John_ wants. Anything that John _wants_ , John _gets_ ," it gritted out. "Do you understand, O King?" 

Suddenly, Thorin did understand. Just as quickly, he wished that he didn't. Somehow, for some strange reason, some accident of fate had brought those two together and the dragon was _in love with Thorin's burglar!_ What was he supposed to say about this? If he didn't know better (which he didn't, and he was trying very earnestly not to think about that), he would almost say that the halfling felt similarly. He strongly resisted the urge to find a sturdy enough object with which to brain himself, and instead said, "Yes, I'm beginning to understand." 

It was, it seemed, the wrong thing to say, as suddenly Smaug's eye was much closer to the dwarf than it had been to the hobbit. "Do you?" asked the dragon, its voice was a strange, silky thing in that moment. "I certainly don't understand. Perhaps you could explain it to me, O King?" 

"He's important to you," Thorin said uneasily. The great eye blinked once then the head retreated back to its previous position. Smaug didn't speak again right away. Instead, the dragon waited for Thorin to continue with an expectant air. "I'm unsure of how important, but it is obvious that he is important." 

"But _why_ is he important?" the dragon asked petulantly. "I've always understood that John was important, but I've never managed to grasp _why_! He is such an ordinary creature. Look at him. He doesn't even dress well. He's staid, simple; he likes many things, dislikes many more, just like every other creature. The only truly remarkable thing about him is his stubbornness." 

Bilbo, for his part, seemed disinclined to argue with the dragon's perception of him, but it didn't stop him from commenting. "Yet, you still don't understand me. You never could." 

"I knew everything about you, John; now, I don't even know the name of the land you call home. Instead of making me happy, I find it positively infuriating!" 

"How is it, that he has never seen you, yet you both speak as if you have known each other for years?" asked Thorin, deciding to put the question that has been bothering him into open air. 

"I should think you'd have enjoyed the mystery," Bilbo began, and then stopped, glancing over at Thorin. "Erhm. Well, I was wondering how I was going to get to that. It is important, I think. And I can't say that he's the same, exactly, as he was then, but... I think..." 

The dragon snorted. "John, best stop before you hurt yourself. Past lives, O King, reincarnation, rebirth, re-embodiment, or recreation; need I continue? John, give me your pipe." 

Thorin noted Bilbo's reluctance. "Uhm, no. I'm happy with my pipe, Sherl...Smaug. I shan't be letting you take it from me." 

"I have a better one, somewhere around here," the dragon insisted, swaying his head away from them, possibly looking for said pipe. 

"I should be happier if you could spot me some pipeweed. Or tea. I do miss good tea," the halfling sighed. He didn't look near half as unhappy as he sounded. 

"Tea?" asked Smaug, head swinging back around, interested. "I remember tea. I don't have any, though." The words sounded disappointed. With a surprisingly dexterous claw, the dragon managed to steal Bilbo's pipe case. "You won't be needing this once you've got a better one..." 

"Give that- No, you give that back! The resin is what's important... Sherl...Smaug, I mean it. Give it back!" 

Thorin supposed that things could have been worse. Honestly, he was too bemused to even think about fighting the dragon. Besides, the world thinking that Durin's line tamed a dragon? That would be... Yes, that would be worth a lot. He ignored the crashing sound as Bilbo had an unusually clumsy moment and tripped over something shiny and beautiful in his quest to retrieve his pipe. Even Thorin could see that he was never getting it back. 

* * *

_I can change my shape, you know, John. John. Are you listening yet, John? Now that the dwarven king has left us for the moment, I would have you listening to me. I said, I can change my shape. Would you like to see me again, as I was? I would like to see you again, with human eyes. Perhaps, in time, I will outgrow the gold lust - I've never heard of it happening. The longer a dragon rests amungst gold, the more intelligent he grows. Did you know that, John?_

_The king was wrong, you know. You aren't merely important. You've always been so much more than_ important _. Perhaps this is love? I do not know. I did not know, even then. If so, would you... let me know you better?_

_I would find a way to keep you for as long as I can. Without you here, I'm afraid, I'll be a beast again. I don't want to be a beast, John. Stay here, John. I will let your dwarves take from my gold. I will allow them to add to it. I will allow their_ presence _, John._

 _For now, I will allow it. As long as you stay, I will allow it._

_Stay, John._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more planned. Anything else will be a separate fic following this one.


	3. A Very Respectable Dwarven King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a dragon grows weary of being stared at and a king who finds something amiss in his chambers.

The idea of a tame dragon was many things; unlikely, unnatural, dangerous... frightening. Terrifying. Awe-inspiring. Mostly, the dragon seemed to draw gawkers, which irritated Smaug to no end, and eventually he disappeared, in a fit of pique. The stares of Men, it seemed, were less an issue than those of the treating elves. Thorin's "captivity" of the creature made him instantly into a powerful political figure - not the least because the elves of Mirkwood feared that the dwarven king might choose to send the dragon to them. 

Little did they know, the dragon didn't listen to the king, but to the king's burglar. 

As for Thorin, the dwarf was still more than bemused, and the orcs... The orcs hadn't stood well against the onslaught of a living, breathing, fire-breathing dragon. The battle that could have cost them so much was instead almost... easy. Thorin wasn't used to things happening for him easily. Perhaps keeping Smaug occupied was going to be where the difficulty would lie. 

He could just see it: the dragon, bored and running rampant through Erebor, just after his people's return... In a way, it was like trying to control a giant, unruly housecat. "Best leave Bilbo to it, then," he muttered, opening the door to his chambers. Halfway across the floor, he stopped, staring at the pale, utterly naked form lying on his bed. 

It wasn't another dwarf (Thorin would have been irritated by that, though not much surprised), nor was it an elf (which might have enraged him), nor was it a man (the creature was far too small). He supposed that it might have been a hobbit, if not for the feet, which looked fine and narrow, much like any elf's. Thorin might have suspected it to be a miniature elf; for the body was whiplean as elvenkind tend to be, yet the face was all wrong; long and angular, yes, but lined and mobile. His hair was a dark, curly mass, hanging untamed about his bare face. Perhaps he was a hobbit. Thorin hadn't met many hobbits, and it was possible that Bilbo had unusually large feet (somehow he doubted this, as Bilbo seemed quite as ordinary as Smaug claimed, at least physically). 

A suspicion began to form, so he asked, scowling irritably, "Who are you?" 

The voice was almost exactly the same as the dragon's, though less resonant. "Who do you think I am, O King?" the creature asked archly, with a wide smirk. 

"What are you doing in my chambers, O Smaug the no longer tremendous?" He wondered vaguely if all dragons were capable of changing their forms, or if Smaug was special. 

"I find that your clothing would make for the best fit," the dragon said, running a hand through his unruly mop of dark hair. "It is also some of the only clothing I have seen that would be... benefiting my stature." Smaug's words made sense, but that didn't explain why he was lying there still, naked as a newborn babe, in Thorin's bed. 

Thorin did have a problem with this, but much to his chagrin, it was less that Smaug wanted to steal his clothes than it was that Smaug was _still naked_ and _in_ Thorin's _bed_. Normally, again, this wouldn't bother him so much, except that Smaug made for a shockingly pretty picture, and Thorin just couldn't wrap his mind around it. His mouth was dry, also, and that would probably be part of the reason he was having such difficulty bringing words to it. "Why are you not dressed, then?" 

The dragon pouted, and Thorin fought not to react. He suspected that Smaug had some idea of what was going through his mind though, and was immensely amused by it. One pale hand waved at the clothing that was scattered across the bed. "I find that, never having worn clothing, I seem to be having some difficulty. Perhaps you would be so kind as to assist me?" 

_How is this my life?_ he wondered, even as he stepped forward to fulfill Smaug's request. If Thorin had any sense, he would have had someone else do this. "Mind you, I will only do this once, so pay attention." 

He went into this expecting a battle, but as it turned out, Smaug was easy to dress, due to taking instruction well, even if he only wanted to wear lighter materials, briefly fought the idea of boots (Thorin insisted; a hobbit's feet might be able to run around the mountain unprotected, but one day he would wear Bilbo down on the subject, and the halfling would wear boots as well), and generally refused anything halfway sturdy (though he had perked up for a moment on the idea of wearing armor - Smaug saw that more as a self-adornment than anything else, but once he realized how heavy it was going to be he changed his mind). 

In the end, Smaug was dressed in a pair of very nice, buttery soft, leather breeches, and a silken nightshirt (Thorin had tried to tell him that it was for sleeping, but the dragon had loved the color), and a cleaned up pair of Thorin's mother's boots. Smaug's feet really were quite dainty, so there was no way that any of Thorin's boots would have fit him. 

The dragon seemed pleased with the outcome. "I haven't seen John since I changed," Smaug admitted, admiring himself in the mirror. "I think I must go and see him now. Yes, I should seek him out and then we shall consummate. I thank you for your kindly assistance, O King." With a flash of a grin, the dragon tore out of the room, leaving a perturbed, bemused, and vaguely aroused Thorin in his wake. 

_Certainly,_ Thorin thought, _certainly it is enough if they_ think _I have a dragon? Surely that must be enough!_

But it was best not to worry about it, he supposed, going about getting ready for bed. After all, it was quite late, and even if Smaug was still running around energetically, talking about consummation and such, some people felt that a good night's sleep had been well earned. It had been a long day, and tomorrow was liable to be a longer one. 

Now if only he could make himself stop thinking about what the daft creature had meant by "consummate".

FIN


	4. A Little  Less Than Respectable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a dragon finds that he's a little less welcome than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I said it was done, but I guess it wasn't. This time it is. Really.

Bilbo Baggins still thought of himself as Bilbo Baggins. Thirty years of dreaming of another life hadn't changed that, and neither would a daft dragon who couldn't be bothered to remember that his name wasn't John Watson (a very respectable name, he was sure, but it was a Man's name, not a hobbit's). Honestly, a good share of the time, he'd much rather be done with John Watson's memories, his life and his dreams (John Watson had horrid dreams - nightmares of fire and thunder and sand; of blue light and a strange, chemical smell, and yet more fire and thunder). 

He couldn't think of a single good reason that he might be limping (John Watson had been unable to, either); though apparently, dwarven princes with too much time on their hands bothered with much conjecture - conjecture that would have most lasses and quite a few lads flaming flushed at the face, and their dear old mothers' hearts fluttering in horror. For as young as they really were, in the grand scheme of things, Fili and Kili had just the worst of mouths on them at times. 

Perhaps his attempt to put them in place had only exacerbated things - after all, he couldn't very well go about shouting that No, Smaug hadn't had him on his back, on his front, or had him in any manner between, and could they all just be quiet about it? He's a dragon, and Bilbo wasn't about to... well, there was what Smaug had said about skin-shifting, but he wasn't about to mention that to the princes, nor was he going to wonder about it anywhere but the chambers that had been set aside for him. 

After all, Bilbo hadn't mentioned the possibility of Smaug skin-shifting in the future, and if he mentioned it now, not only would the jokes grow more coarse (and he was getting quite put out by that, really), but Thorin likely would be upset with him for not having said anything earlier. The hobbit knew that he should have said something, but really, was it even likely to come up? And if it did, he could always pretend to be as surprised as everyone else... 

That is, of course, if Smaug _let_ him pretend. There was always the possibility that the dragon would, like in their shared past life, intentionally ruin Bilbo's pretty little safety net. He sighed. Smaug would probably take in his faux surprise and say something like "I told you I could." And then there would be pandemonium, and Thorin, especially, would yell, or maybe just growl disapprovingly, at Bilbo, and the hobbit's night (no doubt it would be over the evening meal, or some such) would be ruined. 

_And that,_ he thought, _will be that._ There would be an argument, and Thorin wouldn't try to throw him out, but... Bilbo liked the Thorin that he was slowly getting to know, as opposed to the Thorin he had been intimidated by at the beginning of the journey. Thorin would probably return to old behaviors and Bilbo would be miserable and Smaug would want to know why; because, like Sherlock before him, he just wouldn't understand simple interpersonal interaction and how important it was to Bilbo. 

He was down to hardly more than a nightshirt (a dwarven nightshirt at that, making it more than a little bit too large for him) when he heard his door open. With the soldier's instincts of another life, the hobbit stilled, listened, and realized that the door hadn't actually made a noise - what Bilbo had translated as a sound was merely a shift in air pressure, something natural for a dwarf to pick up, but not for a hobbit. "Hello?" he called, when he heard no other sound. 

His heart hammered painfully in his chest when a smooth hand grasped his shoulder and a voice that he would know anywhere said in his ear, "I can still hear your heart, John." Incredulous, he turned his head to the side to meet the piercing dragon's golden red eyes set in a very pleasant, almost human face. Other than the eyes, Smaug looked exactly like Sherlock, and like Sherlock, had apparently no concept of personal space. He was leaned, plastered more like, all along Bilbo's back, and the hobbit found himself frowning at this. 

"Well, it's nice to know that some things don't change." He wasn't talking about Smaug's hearing, either. On a purely physical level, Smaug's nose was cold, and Bilbo tried to squirm away when it pressed up against the underside of his ear. "Sherl...Smaug! What do you think you're doing?" The dragon just wrapped his arms firmly around the hobbit. _That's not how it's done!_ he wanted to complain. _You're supposed to... I don't know, romance._

"What do you think I'm doing, John?" Smaug countered in an amused drawl. Contrary to his words, which implied a certain level of innocence, Smaug licked his neck and made a considering sound. "I think I'm doing what you want me to do." 

"And it doesn't occur to you to ask?" Bilbo sighed, exasperated. He pulled himself free from the dragon's arms to turn and glare at him. "I _was_ planning on going to sleep. Perhaps this is an activity you might also like to pursue... If so, please, do so politely." 

The dragon took a single step back and... His eyes changed from golden red to a very pale, piercing blue. "Sleeping?" he asked skeptically. "What do you think I've been doing for the last sixty years?" 

"I can tell you that I really couldn't care less," the hobbit replied and, since Smaug had yet to do anything that would hurt him, he had the bravado to physically shove the creature to the bed. "Now lie down and take off your boots. Wherever did you find those?" 

"The hairy little king gave them to me." Smaug sat on the edge of the bed and attempted to unlace the boots. It was obvious that he didn't know what he was doing, but Bilbo didn't bother to intervene. 

"That's a relief," he muttered, pushing the covers aside to crawl under. He was much too tired to deal with this, he really was. 

* * *

Smaug didn't sleep immediately, and Bilbo should have expected that. The dragon (in a hobbit-like form or not, he was still a dragon) kept moving about. He would sit up, crawl over to Bilbo and drape himself over the hobbit only to be elbowed and shoved back to the other side of the bed. "This is not how I imagined to spend the evening," the dragon complained. 

"Should have consulted with me first then, shouldn't you?" Bilbo grunted, this time using his feet to push Smaug away. It took many more attempts from Smaug (the dragon was more persistent than any creature had a right to be) before Bilbo gave up on pushing him away. "You had better plan on letting me sleep, or I shan't forgive you." 

"What is your fascination with sleep?" 

Although the way Smaug's legs tangled with his was enough to make his stomach give an excited flip-flop, Bilbo was too tired to pursue the interest. "Hobbits need to sleep," he said, untangling just enough to turn his back on the dragon. He pulled his plush pillow to his chest and did just that. After all, hobbits don't only need to sleep, they also greatly enjoy it. 

* * *

Some days later, Bilbo had to ask Bofur about a replacement bed. When the dwarf asked what had happened to the one he had, he sighed and said, "Dragon," as though that explained everything. Thinking on it, it really did. Smaug _had_ been complaining that their burglar slept too much. 

FIN

for real this time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Additional parts only by request/depending on response. Sequel? Pending.


End file.
